The wind howled over the ruins, carrying with it the ashes of a forgotten world.
Perched atop the shattered steps of an ancient palace, Kaelen Veyr scanned the horizon. As far as the eye could see stretched barren plains, dotted with the smoking carcasses of once-magnificent citadels. A sky blackened by smoke formed an oppressive vault, torn by crimson glimmers—remnants of distant lightning or secret fires.
At his feet lay the Black Crown, half-buried beneath the rubble. The metal was dull and streaked with fissures that glowed with a sickly light, as if the object still breathed. Kaelen felt his heart tighten. They said that whoever laid hands on this crown would gain immense power… at the cost of their humanity.
He drew in the acrid smoke, closed his eyes, and let memories of his childhood rise: muffled laughter in the throne room, his father's impassioned speeches, and the night when everything changed. A cannon blast, doors torn from their hinges, then silence. His only inheritance now was this cursed iron circlet that had brought about his family's downfall.
Was he ready to break the cycle?
He took a trembling step forward and felt beneath his boot a stone skull carved with forgotten runes. The inscriptions groaned with pain, whispering prophecies of war and damnation. Yet deep inside, Kaelen sensed a spark of hope—or perhaps it was madness taking root.
His calloused, scarred fingers brushed the crown's rim. A cold shiver ran up his arm: voices, light as raven wings, murmured all around him.
> "Rise… Rule…"
He staggered back, breath ragged. From the mist behind him emerged a dark silhouette: Mara, his only confidante, stepped into view. Her pale face, framed by silver strands, bore both sorrow and resolve.
— You must not hesitate, she whispered. The men await you below. Your blade and your name are their only hope.
Kaelen met her gaze and saw the same fear he hid within. Since they had rallied the Twilight Blade—a small band of soldiers and lost survivors—Mara had become his right hand, his counselor… and perhaps the only soul who could pull him back from the abyss.
He inhaled, summoned his courage, and bent to grasp the crown. The touch of metal unleashed a whirlwind of visions in his mind:
Massive battles where countless armies clashed under thousands of banners.
Magic seals opening onto abysses of blue flame, unleashing creatures whose cries echoed to the core of one's soul.
A blood-soaked throne where a fallen king held the crown in trembling hands before crushing it—and dying under the weight of his own madness.
The young heir wavered. Mara laid a firm hand on his shoulder.
— Kaelen, remember why you're here. For the living.
He opened his eyes. The voices fell silent. He adjusted the crown on his head, feeling the cold metal bite into his flesh, carving faint cuts. The pain was sharp and raw, but his vision cleared in a peculiar way. He now perceived a faint pulse of life beneath the earth—an echo of the lost cities.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he drove his sword—a massive blade once forged for his father—into the cracked stone. The impact resounded through the valley like thunder.
Below, a group of thirty or so men and women had gathered in what had once been the grand courtyard. Survivors hollowed by hunger and despair, clad in tatters, wielding makeshift weapons. At the sight of the crown, cries of hope and doubt rose in unison.
— The Monarch… The Monarch has returned! one voice trembled.
Kaelen descended the fragile steps, Mara at his side. Each footfall struck the dead earth like a vow. Eyes fixed on him—some wet with tears, others defiant against the wind.
He lifted his hand and called for silence. His voice, hoarse at first, then strengthened:
— My friends… my companions!
> We are but shadows in a world that has forgotten us.
Beneath this broken crown lie the remnants of an empire—and also the promise of a new beginning.
I offer you my life, my sword… and our last chance to restore our heritage.
A heavy silence settled, until an gray-haired soldier steadied the crowd:
— We will follow you to the ends of the earth, Kaelen Veyr.
A murmur of fervor rose. A wave of human warmth washed over Kaelen's heart. For the first time in centuries, hope was reborn. Yet he knew that this powerful moment was only the first stone on a path strewn with pitfalls.
He nodded, tightened his grip on his sword's pommel, and studied the faces turned toward him. Behind them, the ruins seemed less threatening than before.
The world will tremble… he thought, as twilight cast its shadows over the valley.
Here, his kingdom would be born.
Not built on the light of days gone by, but forged in ash, blood… and the steel of human resolve.
To be continued…